


Sways

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Janeway got her season two haircut.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Tuvok (Star Trek)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Sways

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Crewmen Chell did a surprisingly decent job. She already feels lighter for having shed the extra length, and it was certainly an easier morning, only having to swipe her brush once through her hair before heading out. She’s been stuck in the same updo since she first left Earth—a modern, uptight style that worked well enough but took too much time to craft. Besides, it’s been nearly two years since her last cut, and the split ends were getting quite unruly. She professed to only want a minor trim, but she can admit that the short pseudo-bob she’s ended up with suits her. One more glance in the mirror before she leaves, and Kathryn decides it’s perfect.

The crew instantly notices. She receives several smiles on her way through the halls, a complement or two in the mess, and Neelix insists, “You look marvelous, Captain!” as he pours her a fresh cup of black coffee. She chuckles and dismissively waves her hand—she doesn’t _need_ the attention, but every once in a while, she can admit it’s nice. 

Then it’s up to the bridge. She steps into the turbolift and turns in time to see Tuvok coming. His eyes go straight to the change, sweeping over her in detail, though his steps don’t falter. He slides into the turbolift beside her, head facing forward, and the doors smoothly shut behind him. 

There’s a fleeting few seconds where Kathryn leaves him the chance to comment. When he doesn’t, she orders, “Halt turbolift.”

It freezes in place. Posture as straight as his, her hands folded in her front like his are behind his back, she casts a furtive glance sideways. He looks right back at her, one sharp brow arched, dark eyes impervious to scrutiny. Kathryn quietly prompts, “Well?”

“Captain?”

“Your thoughts, Commander.”

Tuvok doesn’t ask what she means. He would’ve been made aware of any major chances for the ship or crew, and the only thing different than yesterday is what’s right in front of him. She knows he sees it. She knows he must have _some_ opinion. Vulcans have a reputation for dry objectivity, but Kathryn’s well aware of how much they understand art and creativity. 

He finally relinquishes, “It is a departure from your usual look, but acceptable.”

Kathryn bites back a snort. She doesn’t resume the turbolift. Tuvok lets out that sort of tiny, infinitesimal breath that he does when unruly humans try his patience. He turns to face her properly, like he should have from the beginning, stepping so close that his shoes part around hers and she can feel the ghost of his tight uniform against her arm. He asks, “What would you like me to say?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. She looks straight into his eyes, letting their connection be enough—she can feel it bristling even without the benefit of _touch_. But his shoulder shifts, and she knows he’s going to touch her. 

He lifts his hand up to her face, thumb pressing to her chin, drawing across her jaw, long fingers threading through her hair. Her breath catches as he tangles himself up in her loose locks, newly free to play with, and then he makes a fist and gives a gentle tug. It’s just enough for her to _feel_ , enough for her to shiver. She doesn’t normally wear her hair loose on duty, but she doesn’t normally corner him in the turbolift either.

Maybe it’s the new style. It’s making her feel _scandalous_ , even though she knows she’ll resume her modesty in a matter of moments. They’ll both go up to the bridge like nothing happened, do their duty all shift long and not share a single hungry look, even though she occasionally daydreams about riding him in her captain’s chair. Tuvok lets his palm trail tantalizingly across her cheek, and that simple touch sparks like lightning. There’s a quick surge in their bond—he could deepen it into a full-on meld if he wanted to, but they don’t have time to become that involved. Instead, he murmurs aloud, “You are beautiful.”

Kathryn grins. She could laugh at his bluntness but knows how he is and appreciates it. She can see the question on his face: is that enough, or does she need him to flatten her against the nearest bulkhead and show her just how much he likes the look of her?

It’s enough. He always is. “Computer, resume turbolift.”

Tuvok’s hand abruptly falls away. Kathryn misses it, but no more than usual. She straightens too, and by the time they’re stepping out onto the bridge, they’re both prim and properly apart, though still, _always_ , very much together.


End file.
